Time Spent With You
by Availre
Summary: Just a collection of one shots about Christine and Erik's experiences with one another. Will be updated weekly. #9: Dancing
1. Chapter 1

Christine sat in her small dressing room, curled up with a particularly riveting thriller novel that Erik had recommended to her. He had said that she would enjoy it, and at first she was skeptical, once she had gotten through the first chapter, she found herself unable to put it down. She was reading it in all the free time she had, eager to find out the ending. Who had been the murderer? The sister? The aunt? The forbidden lover in a crime of passion?

_"Edward's breath was coming in sharp gasps as he looked around the eerie, mist filled cemetery. The note said that he would be able to confront his wife's killer here, so long as he came alone at midnight on the 31 of October. Edward suddenly cursed the lack of a moon. Coupled with the mist that came up above his head and reduced his vision, he was highly susceptible to be attacked by the killer, should this all be a trap._

_ But of course it was a trap. How could it not be? Edward was close, so close, to finding Maryanne's killer, and they knew it, too. A twig cracked behind him, and Edward whirled around, ready to face whomever it might be._

_ No one was there._

_ The fact that no one was there only heightened Edward's sense of impending doom, and all at once he was eager to be out of the cemetery. Deciding to leave before he got himself killed, Edward tightened his cloak about him._

_ The large city clock chimed 12:15, and Edward hurried toward the cemetery gates, when they slammed shut just in front of his nose. He became aware of an eerie, haunting melody that someone seemed to be whispering. It couldn't have been more than a child's voice that was singing, but that made it all the more chilling._

_ Edward's heart rate was extremely elevated now from the adrenaline coursing through his body. He could hear metal scraping, and he turned again, to find a figure cloaked entirely in black, their face shrouded by shadow and the mist. They held a rusty dagger in their hand, and slowly advanced toward Edward._

_ "No! Stop! Who are you?" Edward said, backing against the closed gate to delay his inevitable-"_

There was a light, cold touch on Christine's shoulder, and she fairly shrieked, scrambling out of the chair and turning to face who it was, dropping the book in the process.

It was Erik.

"Oh, Erik. It's only you. I didn't hear you come in, and you startled me." She placed a hand over her breast to calm herself, laughing self consciously.

"Yes, I gathered you didn't hear me, although I addressed you several times. What on earth are you reading that would make you jump like that?" he said, gesturing to the book that was now on the floor.

"The novel you said I would enjoy. _'Kenzington Palace,'" _Christine said, picking it up off of the floor.

Erik laughed then and looked at Christine fondly. "Christine, I recommended you read _'Whittington Palace,' _not _'Kenzington Palace.' _There's a vast difference between the two. Although, I must admit that I'm surprised you would find enjoyment out of something so dark," he said with amusement. "Perhaps I shall find others of the like and you may read them as well."

"I'd like that very much, Erik," Christine said. "Mystery and thriller novels have always captured my special attention when it comes to books, because you never know how it's going to end."

**Oneshot #1 is done! Please note that Idont' own any of the titles, characters, or places mentioned in this one shot, if they are, in fact, real. Please read and review, if it pleases you to do so!**


	2. Chapter 2

**And now, we have our All Hallow's Eve/Harvest special! Yay! Hope you all enjoy it :)**

"All Hallow's Eve has always scared me," Christine confessed to Erik, knees tucked under her chin. She was sitting on Erik's sofa, staring into the fire. "And someone always manages to take advantage of that and elicit a scream of surprise and terror from me. I hope you don't mind me coming down here for purely selfish purposes, Erik," she said, looking up at him to confirm her statement.

"Of course not, my dear," Erik said, clearly amused. He closed the book he had been reading to look at her evenly. "You know I enjoy spending time with you." He set the book down on an end table and got up to stir the fire and add another log to it. It was always cold in Erik's house-on-the-lake, but especially at this time of year. Christine had taken the spot closest to the fire to avoid having to be smothered by a blanket. The only time she really liked blankets was when she was sick, and when it was actually time to sleep. Otherwise her dresses usually acted the part. Sometimes high fashion was ridiculous, she thought with disdain. But at least she didn't have to put up with that nonsense down here, although when she was up there, Erik wanted her to look as nice as possible, and so he was always fawning over her and buying her this and that, whatever it was she might have mentioned that had captured her fancy.

"What do they usually do to make you screech?" Erik asked, his lips pursing under his stark white mask.

"Last year they stuck a hollowed out pumpkin over my head," she grumbled, wrinkling her nose at the particularly smelly memory. Erik made the mistake of laughing then.

"It's not funny!" Christine protested indignantly. "Have you ever had a pumpkin shoved over your face?" It was a rhetorical question, of course, but Erik chose to answer ayway.

"No, I can't say that I have," he replied, struggling to hide a smile.

"Well, you're infinitely more lucky than I am. It's smelly, gooey, and you can't see anything, and everything sounds funny, and it takes _days_ to get it out of your hair!" she said with exasperation, sniffling slightly with irritation.

"And then," Christine began, but she shuddered at the memory and stopped.

"And then..?" Erik prompted. He hadn't had this good of a laugh in a long, long time. But Christine could always make him laugh, even when he didn't feel like smiling. He had never particularly cared for Halloween, or any holiday, really, but if Christine was around for them, that might just change.

"No! I'm not going to tell you! You'll laugh again," she whined, shaking her head and closing her eyes like a little child who didn't want to eat their vegetables.

"Come now, Christine, you would think me so petty as to laugh at you?" Erik asked, shaking his head. "I thought you would know by now that I would never want to humiliate or embarrass you in any way." Christine's mouth hung open slightly and she looked offended. "Now now, dear, close your mouth. You'll catch flies like that, and it's most unbecoming."

Christine's mouth snapped shut with a clack from her pearly whites. "Fine," she said reluctantly, "I'll tell you..." She sighed heavily. "They stuck a family of mice in my bed, too. I screamed so loudly that I'm surprised you didn't hear me down here."

"I think I may have, at that," Erik said, a corner of his mouth twisting upward in that crooked smile that Christine so loved. "But I thought that it was probably Ayesha."

"I've never heard Ayesha do anything but hiss and growl," Christine said, narrowing her eyes at the cat who was just now walking into the room leisurely, her blue eyes staring maliciously at Christine.

"Oh, Ayesha does lots of things," Erik said, scooping the cat up and scratching her methodically under the chin. Christine thought, for a second, that the cat might actually purr, but all that came out was an angry growl. "She just doesn't seem to care for you, but why is beyond me. I've never seen anyone, or anything, that didn't like you."

"Well, cats generally just have one person that they attach themselves to. She just happens to be more... exclusive than most others," Christine said, sticking her tongue out at the cat when Erik wasn't looking. Ayesha bared her teeth in response, growling again.

"Oh, Ayesha, stop it. Christine hasn't done anything wrong," Erik chided, though he sounded anything but annoyed or upset. Ayesha squirmed out of Erik's arms and settled herself rather noisily on the piano. Christine fairly winced at the dissonant sound, which seemed to be what Ayesha wanted, but Erik didn't even blink.

"Erik," Christine said, a curious tone in her voice, "have you ever carved a Jack O' lantern?"

"No, Christine. Another thing that I have yet to do. And I can't say it's on the top of my list, either," he said, yanking some sheet music out from under Ayesha's paw, as she was poking small holes in the score with her claws. The cat did not look pleased, but then, she never looked pleased when Christine was around.

"Oh, come on, Erik, it'll be fun! You carve in a face, scoop out all the seeds and goop beforehand, and then you roast the seeds with some salt and then eat them!" Christine said, flashing her baby blue eyes at him hopefully.

"You _eat_ the insides of the pumpkin?" Erik asked incredulously, and Christine fancied that under his mask his nose was slightly wrinkled with dsigust.

"No, just the seeds, silly. You throw out all the gunk," Christine said with a giggle.

"I'm not silly," Erik huffed, setting the sheet music down, far out of Ayesha's reach, Christine noted. "I've never had the occasion to carve a pumpkin or watch anyone carve one."

"Well, then we definitely have to do it, then!" Christine said excitedly. "They have some extras upstairs, I think, from the recent harvest celebration. Just let me go and get two... Erik, would you come with me? I can't very well carry two large pumpkins down five flights of stairs and across a lake."

"Very well," Erik said, putting on a pair of gloves. "Let's go."

* * *

Christine made a face and laughed at the goop she was scooping out of her pumpkin. "Don't forget to save the seeds," she reminded Erik, who was still staring with a sneer at his pumpkin.

"Of course not," he replied flatly. Christine looked at him before setting down the big spoon she was using to hollow out the inside of her own gourd.

"Take off your jacket," she commanded, putting her hands on her hips. She, of course, knew how messy of a process it could be, and so had put an apron over her dress. "And roll up your sleeves; you'll be better suited to the task."

"I'll remind you, Christine, that I didn't want to do this in the first place," Erik said, taking off his outer jacket and rolling up his sleeves as requested with an obvious practiced motion. She had seen him often enough with cuffed sleeves, hunched over his organ, muttering to himself under his breath.

"Well, you'd like it a whole lot better if you weren't worried about getting your ridiculously-expensive suit ruined," she returned sharply, handing him a carving knife. "Make sure you cut the top at a bit of an angle so it doesn't fall through, but wide enough where you can stick your hand in."

"Yes, mother," Erik said, looking at her with an expression that bespoke of exasperation and annoyance.

"Fine, fine, I'll leave you to your own devices," Christine said, raising her hands slightly and walking back over to her own pumpkin.

"Thank you," Erik said haughtily, deftly slicing into the top of his pumpkin. Christine rolled her eyes, but didn't say anything. She knew Erik hated not knowing what he was doing, and so she didn't even glance at his pumpkin, and instead carved a traditional jack o' lantern face on her own.

"Done," she announced proudly, turning her pumpkin to face Erik. It was simply scary with its triangle eyes and sharply carved teeth. She had even added extremely arched eyebrows to add to the effect. "What do you think, Erik?" She looked up at him, but he was intent on his own pumpkin. In fact, he was concentrating to hard that his tongue was protruding slightly from his mouth. Christine thought it was adorable, and she smiled softly.

Eventually, probably a good fifteen minutes later, Erik backed up from his pumpkin to study it. Christine went and stood next to him, getting her first glimpse of the pumpkin. Her jaw dropped, and Erik laughed and pushed it back up gently.

"It's rather like sculpting with clay, I found, only with a knife," Erik remarked, crossing his arms with satisfaction. Christine shook her head in amazement. For it being Erik's first time carving a pumpkin, he had done better than she ever could. He hand gently touched the pumpkin, and she smiled. Erik truly was a genius.

The carving was a silhouette of a man and a woman from the torso up, and the man had his fingertips on the underside of her chin, studying her gently. There wasn't much detail to the carving at all, no, but you could just feel the emotion emanating from it. The mood was reverent, solemn, but it crackled with electricity.

"Erik, it's-" Christine began, turning to him, but her words died on her lips because he was studying her intently, a cool, in-control look upon his eyes. He reached out a hand slowly and curled his skeletal fingers under her chin, tilting it up slowly.

Christine got a very vague, and yet keen, sense of déjà-vu.

**And here we have more phluph stuff. It wasn't a dark Halloween story or anything, but generally I'm not too dark of a writer... But when I write dark stuff, it's dark... I've yet to post anything like that though, haha. Anyway, reviews are always appreciated, so if it tickles your fancy, please do so!**

**And happy halloween!**


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm sorry for the late update, all. I had to take the SAT and then I wasn't feeling well. But better late than never, right? :)**

**Million: While I appreciate every review I receive, my last story was, by all technicalities, 'decent.' I respect the fact that you don't celebrate Halloween, and personally, I don't either, but I wrote the last chapter merely because I thought it would be cute. I'm sorry that I upset and offended you, but I'm going to write what I'm going to write, and that's that. If you don't like it, you don't have to read it.**

Christine was wandering through Erik's home by herself. She had never really cared for being in this damp place by herself, but Erik had had to step out in order to get some 'necessities.' Which, Christine knew, meant that he had run out of food and needed to get some. Everything else in the house was impeccable, of course, but Erik's kitchen was always in a shambles.

On impulse, Christine decided to clean up the kitchen a bit. Perhaps if it looked a little more... welcoming, then Erik would use it a bit more than he was currently. She detested how he barely ate, except when she forced him to, though he didn't seem displeased by her insistence. Like most everyone, she suspected that he felt better after he ate.

Unlike probably everyone else on the planet, Erik actually didn't like the process of eating. He would rather be sitting at his organ composing, or scaring the managers out of their wits. He also particularly found enjoyment out of slipping into Raoul's box during an opera and making him start with fright, coming in the guise of the "Angel of Death." Christine had only found out about _that_ because Raoul had told her that he thought he was imagining things, but she had known better. She made a mental note to tell Erik to cut that out before Raoul really did scream during the middle of a performance.

Presently, Christine brought out some pots so she could wipe out the bottom of the cupboard, as a thin film of dust was coating the bottom of it, as well as all the pots. She sighed; she really would have to take a cooking class so she could _possibly_ get Erik to enjoy eating. Or perhaps she should just come and eat his meals with him, she thought, knowing that she didn't like eating by herself, as it made her feel rather alone and unwanted.

She decided that that course of action would be easier and less expensive than taking a cooking class. So, she'd just come down and have dinner with Erik every evening. It would be good for both of them. Erik wouldn't be quite so isolated, and Christine, well, she'd get to be around Erik, she thought with a smile. That would be plenty of reason for her.

The pots were clean, and fairly dry, so she went to put them back in the cupboard, but the handle on the base pot was still wet from washing, and it slipped out of her small hand, and fell onto the counter, and then rolled right onto her toes with several loud crashes.

Christine yelped in pain and let out several loud obscenities, but only becaue Erik wasn't home. She never would have even dreamed of tainting his perception of her with something so... vulgar.

Little did she know, from all the loud crashing, that Erik was home.

"Christine! What on earth has happened?" he asked, rushing into the kitchen, package under his arm. "And why in Heaven's name were you swearing like a sailor?"

Christine's head whipped up. "Erik, I had no idea that you were even home yet! I just, um, just dropped some pots on my foot," she said sheepishly. "It hurt rather badly."

"And _why_ were you rummaging around in my kitchen?" he asked more concerned as to why she was snooping around than about her foot. Coming up beside her and setting the package down on a bare spot of counter, he continued, "Are you all right?" he added, almost as an afterthought.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. And I was attempting to do something nice for you, Maestro," she said, attempting flattery to avoid his highly flammable temper. "I thought I'd clean your kitchen for you while you were out, so maybe you'd use it more."

"Christine, honestly, you don't need to do anything for me, I assure you," he said, helping her onto a chair. "May I?" he asked, referring to Christine's hurt foot.

"Of course. I seriously doubt it's broken, though, Erik. It just... surprised me, was all. I'm sorry for cursing," she said, feeling like a small child being reprimanded by a parent.

"It's quite all right, Christine," Erik gingerly picked up Christine's barefoot, examining the toes and the surrounding areas for a moment. "It should be fine, but probably sore for the rest of the evening," he warned her. "And you really should stop going around here barefoot; you'll catch cold."

Christine made a face. "Only if you do something for me," she said stubbornly.

Erik sighed, feigning exasperation. "And what might that be?" he asked, putting her foot down and standing.

"Let me come down and have dinner with you each evening?" Christine asked sweetly. He looked at her skeptically, and she gave him her prettiest smile, the one she knew he couldn't resist. She felt rather wicked, using him like that, but it was for the greater good. Besides, his voice did the same thing to her. All he had to so was speak, and she was at his mercy. She'd do anything for him...

"Are you sure that's what you want? It seems rather unfair..." he trailed off. It did seem rather unfair to him, her wearing shoes, and then coming down and eating with him each night? It seemed he was getting his way, yet she had suggested it. So, perhaps...

"Thank you very much, Erik," Christine said happily. "So, what're we having?" she asked, looking up at him innocently.


	4. Chapter 4

**Urg! I am so terribly sorry for the late update (again!) It was my Grandpa's birthday on Sunday, and then we had to clean out the pig sty (which was exceedingly disgusting). Otherwise, I swear I would have updated. This particular one shot is in honor of Veteran's Day (two days late, ugh). Featuring Nadir! :D**

"You'll have to disappear for an hour or so today, Christine. I'm expecting a guest," Erik said, adding a log to the fire. Christine looked at her teacher over another mystery novel she was reading.

"You receive guests? Down here?" she said incredulously, marking her place and closing the book in surprise. Erik sighed with impatience.

"Really, Christine. I do have some connections to the outside world. But really, he's going to be here-"

There was a knock at the door.

"I'll get it!" Christine piped up, springing to her feet and running to the front door as quickly as she could. Erik was hot on her heels, but she flung the door open with a wide smile before he could stop her.

There was a short, portly Persian man, who look to be in his early fifties, at the door and he was staring at Christine with a surprised expression. She smiled brilliantly at him through a slightly flushed face.

"Nadir," Erik cut in, gently pulling Christine away from the doorway. "You're early."

"The streets were not as busy as I anticipated," Nadir said smoothly and stepping inside. "I didn't realize you received company down here, Erik," he said with a pointed look at Christine.

Erik scowled darkly. "Am I really that unsociable?" he grumbled.

"Yes," Nadir said, just at the same time Christine said "no." Nadir laughed good-naturedly and stepped inside, hanging his hat on a hanger on the wall.

"So tell me, old friend," Nadir said, turning to Erik with a twinkle in his eye. "Who is this fine young lady?"

Erik didn't seem particularly pleased at Nadir's drawing attention to Christine, and he sighed with annoyance.

"Nadir, this is my student, and future prima donna of this opera house, Christine Daaé. Christine, this is an old _friend_ of mine, Nadir Khan," Erik said as gracefully as he could manage through his anger.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, miss," Nadir said, kissing her hand politely.

"The pleasure is all mine, I assure you Monsieur Khan," Christine replied sweetly. "You have no idea how happy I am to learn that Erik has someone besides me," she said with a playful look in Erik's direction. _The man looks stiff as a board. Perhaps I really should have left when he asked me to,_ Christine thought absently.

"I had the same thought," Nadir said evenly, though with a more suspicious glance toward Erik. The tall, slender man scowled angrily at his friend.

"Shall I make tea?" Christine asked, hoping to break the more than evident tension that had grown in the room.

"Yes, why don't you?" Erik said with a curt nod. "I think that would be most appropriate, Christine."

"All right, Angel," Christine said with a jubilant smile, walking briskly into the kitchen and starting the kettle.

"Angel?" Nadir said in a harsh whisper, following Erik, at a jog, into the sitting room.

"That is none of your concern," Erik snapped. "I did not invite you here to scrutinize my relationship with her!"

"No, no, of course not," Nadir said with an amused undertone. "WHat, exactly did you invite me here for, then?"

"You know why."

Nadir knew exactly why, and he appreciated Erik's extension of hospitality all the more for it. Today was the anniversary of Reza's death, and Nadir knew that had Erik not invited him here, he would be wallowing in guilt and remorse. But he was more concerned with _why_ a young, beautiful girl would be five stories below the opera house with a man in a mask.

"Thank you," Nadir murmured quietly, taking a seat on a high-backed armchair. "I was merely trying to-"

"You do not need to apologize, Nadir," Erik cut him off, waving his hand. "It is best to forget."

"You regret it to, then?" Nadir asked quietly, more than a little surprised.

"I regret nothing!" Erik snapped, eyes blazing. He turned to Nadir with such an anger that Nadir though for sure that he would die that die. Then Christine came in with the tea, and Erik's whole demeanor changed noticeably. He seemed calmer, happier, even. The anger had gone out of his eyes just like that. _He's in love with her._

"Here's the tea." Christine smiled and set the tray down on the table in the middle of the room. "I wasn't sure what kind of tea you preferred, Monsieur Khan-"

"Please, miss, you may call me Nadir."

She nodded her head with a small smile. "I wasn't sure what kind of tea you liked, Nadir, so I brought out several options."

The Persian smiled gratefully and selected on of his favorite teas before looking at her and smiling apologetically.

"I wonder if I could trouble you for a slice of lemon?" he asked demurely, placing the tea bag into his steaming mug of water.

"Oh, of course! Silly me," Christine said before rushing back into the kitchen. She perused the pantry until she found a particularly round, yellow lemon. Selecting a small paring knife, she set about slicing the juicy fruit up. She could hear Erik and Nadir talking quietly, but she couldn't quite make out what they were saying until she came into the adjourning hallway. She was quiet, and stood out of sight outside the doorway.

"...Thinking?!" That was Nadir. "She's young, Erik! Too young!"

"Nadir," Erik said smoothly, "This doesn't concern you. How I govern my emotions is not up to you."

"It's perfectly clear to me that you _aren't_ governing you emotions on this matter! Besides, there are rumors that she has been... romantically involved with the Vicomte."

"She wouldn't do such a thing," Erik scoffed, and Christine was instantly grateful that Erik wasn't easily susceptible to gossip. She was also grateful that he was defending her honor. She then decided that now was as good a time as any to come in.

"Here we are," she said brightly. "One fresh lemon."

Nadir looked up at her suspiciously, but she smiled innocently and sat down on the divan. "Thank you," he said finally, squeezing the lemon into his tea.

"So, Nadir, whereabouts are you from, exactly?" Christine asked, looking at him intently.

"Persia," he responded slowly, wary as to where this would go.

"Oh, how exotic!" Christine said, clasping her hands together. "What was it like?"

"Hot. It was extremely hot and dry there, miss," Nadir replied.

"What did you do?" The question, though innocent enough, caught Nadir off guard. How should he respond? He had worked for the shah, in close quarters with Erik, who, needless to say, did rather unpleasant things.

"He was Captain of the guard," Erik answered for him. "A soldier."

"How very honorable you, Nadir, to serve your country so selflessly."

Nadir flushed slightly. "I was never in a battle, if that's what you are assuming."

Christine shook her head. "It doesn't _really_ matter. You were willing to sacrifice your own life for your leader, your country, and its citizens. It's a noble profession to have. You must have received a lot of respect."

"On the contrary, my social standing was rather low, and I was not popular among my superiors. But I was able to provide for my family, and that was really all that mattered."

"I'm sorry," Christine said, shaking her head slightly. "Someone who is willing to die for others should be respected and honored, not ridiculed."

"Well, thank you," Nadir said quietly, taking a sip of his tea. He noticed with curiosity that Erik had been silent throughout this whole exchange, which was unlike him.

"Of course," Christine said pleasantly. She glanced at Erik, who had a strange expression on his face. "Angel, are you all right?"

"Mmh? Oh, yes, perfectly fine, Christine. Out of all the scenarios I pictured you two meeting, you were at each other's throats. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine you would get along." He shook his head slightly.

"There's still plenty of time," Nadir pointed out mildly. "After all, I've only just arrived."


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you all so much for the lvoely reviews! They truly do make my day!**

Erik watched Christine with keen interest. She had been acting strange lately, and she wouldn't tell him what was bothering her. He, of course, already knew why she was distressed: she had been seeing that God-awful Vicomte against his specific orders not to see any man romantically. He would get her in a corner now. Erik knew that she had made plans to go out with that _fop_ tonight, and he planned to put a stop to it.

"Christine, I believe that it is imperative that we have another lesson tonight to prepare for your role in _Faust," _Erik said, looking at her evenly. He thought he saw her stiffen slightly before responding.

"Erik, I don't know if I'm up for it," she said quietly. "My throat is a little hoarse; I'd like to rest, if that's all right."

"Yes, of course," Erik said. "I don't want you straining your voice. You'll stay down here with me until it has recuperated."

"I think I'd rather stay in my room upstairs," Christine said timidly. She felt like he was trapping her in a corner. She felt incredibly guilty lying to him about this, but she knew he wouldn't' understand.

"Why? Have I upset you? Or frightened you?"

"Oh, no, Angel!" she said hurriedly. "It's just so dreadfully cold down here."

Damn, the girl was good. After all, she had learned from the best. But he was better. She didn't know all of his secrets. "That is easily remedied, my dear," he said, standing to look at a water-color painting that hung on the wall. "Each room used has an excellent fireplace; I have an abundance of wood. There's nothing quite like the heat of a fire to help you feel better. Besides, were you above, you wouldn't have anyone to care for you during your illness."

Christine paused for a moment. "Very well," she said. "If that's what you wish. I suppose I'll just have to tell Mama Valerius, somehow, that I won't be home tonight. Again."

"Don't lie to me," Erik snapped, turning to her with blazing eyes.

"Erik, why would I lie to you?" Christine asked, mouth slightly open with shock.

"I know you're seeing the Vicomte," he said with deceptive calm. "Why you wish to hide that from me, well... I can see why, considering I specifically _told you not to!"_

Christine shrunk into her chair. "Erik, it's not what you think," she whimpered, and Erik's heart completely melted. This woman would be the death of him, he thought, shaking his head.

"Then, pray tell, Christine, what is it?" Erik asked softly, fearing the answer.

"Erik, Raoul is a dear friend, and I love him as if-"

"As if what?" Erik asked, his voice sounding strangely hollow, and he was surprised that he wasn't exploding. But he wouldn't do that to Christine. Not again. She had been a child-she didn't know any better. At that time the whole world was good and agreeable in her eyes, she never even suspected the horror that lay behind the mask. Somehow, bless her, she had learn to forget that, insisting that she didn't care, and that he didn't have to wear it. But Erik knew better. If she saw his face again, she would leave-

"As if he were my brother," Christine finished, standing and walking over to him. "I know he feels more... strongly for me than I for him, and that was the whole purpose of this dinner tonight. You didn't seriously think that I would blatantly disobey you, did you?" Christine asked, a small smile gracing her face, but Erik could see the underlying hurt there.

"No," he said, more to spare her feelings than anything. "I did not."

She smiled with relief. "I'm glad," she said, hugging him hesitantly, "that I have finally earned you trust." Erik patted her back awkwardly, wondering briefly if he would ever trust her.

"I will not detain you any longer, Christine," Erik said, not bothering to hide the smugness in his voice. "After all, you do have a Vicomte to reject."


	6. Chapter 6

**Oh my goodness, I am so sorry it's been so long since I've updated! My life got really busy, but I promise I didn't forget! My other story will be up soon, too! Hope you all enjoy this one.**

"Ayesha! No, leave him be!" Christine whispered urgently, attempting to shoo the cat away from the sleeping form of Erik, who was bent over his organ. The cat hissed at her angrily and went to swat Erik; she was hungry and wouldn't wait for her food. Christine stomped her foot lightly, not wanting to wake Erik, and picked up the feline by the scruff of her neck, and before the cat could yowl indignantly, tossed her out of the room.

Christine carefully and quietly shut the door to the music room and looked at Ayesha, hands on her hips. She crouched down at eye level of the cat, and the next thing she knew, she had a long cat scratch across her collar bone and near the top of her breasts.

"Oh, you bad cat!" Christine said angrily, and the cat tore off down the hallway. Christine chased after her, only to find that Ayesha was in the kitchen on the counter, cleaning herself as if nothing had happened.

"Fine, I'll get you your food," Christine grumbled, taking a cut of raw meat out of the icebox and cutting off some for Ayesha's consumption. She set the dish on the floor and Ayesha hopped onto the tiled floor and proceeded to inhale the food. Christine tentatively reached out to stroke the Siamese cat, and was surprised when the feline actually let Christine pet her once or twice.

Christine decided it was a triumph, despite the battle wound she had received in the process. She went to grab a blanket to put it over Erik while he slept. He had been up for two days, composing some sort of symphony; he had insisted that he be left alone to concentrate. It had never occurred to Christine that he may have forgotten about Ayesha.

She was usually only here in the evenings to eat with Erik, and about twice a week she would come down at three in the afternoon for her lessons. But Christine never thought about Ayesha's feeding schedule. Tip-toeing into the room, Christine draped a light blanket over her tutor's shoulders and went to sit down on the sofa with a book. Much to her surprise, Ayesha came and settled herself into her lap. Christine stroked the cat quietly, stopping occasionally to turn a page of her book.

When Erik woke up, a half hour later, Christine and the cat were both asleep on the sofa.


	7. Chapter 7

"Oh, for pity's sake, Raoul, let it go!" Christine fairly snapped. "He's my teacher; nothing more."

"You promise me?" Raoul asked seriously. "I don't like the man, Christine. He seems... dark."

"He's only my teacher," Christine repeated. "And he's a perfect gentleman, and would never do anything to hurt me." Christine was confident that her statement was true, although Raoul looked more than a little skeptical.

Truth be told, Christine didn't really blame him. Erik was rough around the edges, and wasn't the most social of people. In fact, he was rather imposing with his black attire, tall frame, deceptively smooth voice, and his mask.

Of course, empathizing with Raoul didn't make Christine any less irritated with him. She had specifically told him _not_ to bother her at this time of day, and as he had interrupted, Raoul had gotten his first, and hopefully last, glance of Erik.

Well, it was more than a glance really. He had a full minute, as the three of them stood there in shock, mirror ajar, to get a good look at the embodiment of the infamous Phantom. Erik was the first to recover, stepping lithely within the mirror and shutting it behind him. Christine had snapped out of it the moment Erik moved, turning to usher Raoul out of the room. He had refused to leave until he found out everthing he wanted to know. Which, of course, Christine wasn't going to tell him anything she didn't want him to know at this point.

"And he came out of the mirror, why?" Raoul asked stubbornly, crossing his arms in front of his chest and raising an eyebrow.

Christine blatantly refused to acknowledge his question. "Raoul, everything is perfectly fine, nothing abnormal is going on..."

"_Nothing abnormal?"_ Raoul said with a humorless laugh, throwing his hand in the air. "There is nothing 'normal' about this situation, Christine!"

The soprano closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "This really isn't any of your business, Raoul," she snapped angrily at him, eyes blazing with a sudden fury, causing Raoul to back up a step. "I'm not your wife, fiancé, you're not even my suitor! So I suggest you keep your nose out of things that don't concern you, or you're likely to get it bitten off! Most likely by me!" Christine was practically yelling by the end of her rant. Her face was flushed, her chest was heaving with anger, and a few strands of hair had come undone from her bun.

Smoothing her skirts and looking at the floor, Christine murmured, "Please leave, Raoul. It's for the best if you forget this whole thing." Raoul left without another word, shutting the door behind him quietly.

Erik stepped out from behind the mirror with a smug expression on his face. "Well played, my dear," he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Oh, stop, Erik," Christine said unpleasantly. "I really didn't enjoy doing that."

"I know," he replied quietly, reaching out and kissing her knuckles lightly. "Hopefully he will take your advice and forget this whole thing ever happened."

"I hope so," she agreed, rubbing her arms, as if to ward off a chill.

"If he doesn't, I have a tea that will make him," Erik said wickedly, smiling down at her. Christine's jaw dropped playfully, and she shoved him a few inches to the right.

Erik promptly lead her down the corridor, and they got about halfway, when Christine was hopelessly lost, before Erik stopped. She could feel him turn to face her.

"Christine?"

"Yes, Maestro?" she asked, unaware of the weight of the question that would follow.

"Do you really view me as only your teacher?"

The question caught Christine off guard. She had to think quickly, for fear of shutting Erik out. She couldn't tell him how she _really_ felt; that could end her lessons completely. She knew Erik felt _something_ toward her other than a teacher-pupil relationship. It was just difficult to tell what, since his mood changed so quickly. Christine wasn't sure whether he pitied her, hated her, cared for her as a friend, or... No, he couldn't.

"Of course not, Erik. You're my dearest friend."

**Yay for a (somewhat) on-time update! Please review, if it be pleasin' to ye. I thought it was time for us to meet Raoul, and I have to admit, it was fun to bash him a little bit. :) **


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry I took so long to update, all. It shouldn't happen again, as I'll be on summer vacation here in the next couple of days, so weekly updates should come back.**

Erik sighed, running a hand through his dark wig with frustration. This last cadenza was going to be the death of him. If only he had Christine here, that would solve it, but she wouldn't be here for another... three hours. Brilliant. He had tried out- he paused, counting for a moment- sixteen different endings for this aria, but for the life of him, he couldn't finish it to his satisfaction.

Three hours was a blasted long time to sit around and do nothing. Ayesha came and settled herself onto Erik's lap then, hoping for attention, and he petted the feline absently. The ticking of the clock wasn't making the wait any easier, either. His eyelids slowly began to droop, and Erik realized suddenly that he hadn't slept for nearly a week because he was so driven to compose. Bouts of inspiration struck him at random, and he took the full opportunity each time it came. He wouldn't eat, sleep, or do anything that wasn't necessary to his composing. Of course, with Christine coming down each evening for a meal, he at least ate, which wasn't something he used to do.

Whenever the inspiration struck him, Christine wouldn't disturb him, she would just listen intently, or read a book if it tickled her fancy. Erik didn't fully understand why she chose to spend so much time down here with him in this dark place, but she did, and he wasn't going to complain about it. She even stayed when he would have fits of rage, throwing his reams of sheet music all over the room in anger and frustration. When that happened, she would simply give him a small smile, walk into the kitchen and make him a mug of tea, and pick up his music if it happened to land where she had been sitting.

She managed to keep him relatively level-headed, and in Erik's opinion, she was a miracle worker because of it. She managed to control his temper when even he couldn't, and by God, he loved her for it. And for so many other things, too. He loved her so much that at times it physically hurt.

Erik realized that he must have drifted to sleep without being aware of it, for when he woke, Ayesha was off his lap, and there was a pleasant aroma filling the house. He glanced frantically at the clock, and seeing the time, realized that Christine must have come in the time that he was sleeping. He swore under his breath and walked into the kitchen, whereupon he found her pulling baked chicken out of the oven and humming quietly.

"Hello, Erik," she said warmly after a moment. "Have a nice nap?" She laughed a little despite herself, and she brought out two plates from the cupboard.

"I didn't realize you had arrived," Erik said, attempting to smooth his wig back out.

"Here, let me," she said with a small smile, walking up to him and smoothing his hair back, careful not to move his mask. "There, your cow-lick is gone now."

"Thank you," he managed, adjusting his mask self-consciously. She just smiled at him and took out a few more utensils for the meal.

"Were you having another inspirational burst?" Christine asked conversationally, handing Erik a glass for a beverage. She just poured herself a glass of cool water, he noted with interest. Very often Christine had tea with dinner.

"I was, but I'm afraid I became too tired to continue. Almost one week without sleep is getting to be too much on my aging body." He laughed depreciatively and settled himself down at the table, and Christine sat across from him, placing the napkin in her lap gracefully.

"Oh, come now, Erik. Surely you can't be more than thirty?" Christine said with a smile, serving him a piece of the chicken before plating a piece herself.

"I'm 37, Christine," Erik said quietly, cutting into his piece of poultry fastidiously.

"My, my! Aren't we just the fountain of youth?" Christine said with a laugh. Erik scowled deeply, causing Christine to sigh and roll her eyes. "Erik, 37 is not old at all. You're only 14 years older than me! Why, my own mother and father were 16 years apart when they married. Papa was 34, and my mother was 18."

"And you're comparing us to your parents because..?" Erik asked, raising an eyebrow with a small smirk. Christine visibly turned pink and turned her own attentions to the meal in front of her.

"I'm merely pointing out that," she paused, as if trying to think of a plausible excuse, aside from what she was actually thinking. "That age isn't important when it comes to compatibility, or friendship, or what have you," she finished rather lamely.

"Mmh, indeed," he replied with a sly snort. "Indeed."

"What?" she asked rather defensively. "Compatibility doesn't always mean romantic compatibility, it can simply mean the way two personalities mesh together. Take Meg and I, or Raoul and I. Our personalities do perfectly fine with one another without romantic intentions on either end."

"I noticed how you left me out of that equation," Erik said, looking at her intensely across the table.

"That's because you and I are something else entirely," Christine said without thinking about it. Her fork clattered onto her plate and her hands flew to her mouth with embarrassment. Erik noted how wide her eyes were, and how a blush was spreading across her cheeks yet again. She looked beautiful.

"Erik, I-" Christine started, but he silenced her with a wave of her hand, deciding instead to smile at her.

"I understand, Christine."

"...You do?" Christine said, a small smile creeping up onto her face.

"Of course. You and I also have the teacher and pupil relationship, as well." Idiot, idiot, idiot. Erik thought, scowling slightly at himself. You couldn't just tell her, could you? No. And now look what's happened; you've backslid. Brilliant, Erik. Brilliant.

"Right, yes, of course that's what I meant," Christine said, in a thinly veiled attempt to hide her disappointment. She should just tell him that's not what she meant. She opened her mouth to speak, but Erik had already beaten her to it.

"In actuality, Christine," Erik said clearing his throat awkwardly. "I think we have a chance to become quite a good pair- musically, that is." Christine gave him a small smile.

"I know," she murmured. Christine was a bright girl, but she could be a bit thick sometimes, and Erik could only hope that she had caught his underlying meaning in what he had said.


	9. Chapter 9

** And here we have the next installment of this series! Yay! And only a little behind schedule, and this time I swear I have a legitimate reason. My family and I went away on vacation, and there was no wifi, so I wasn't able to upload the chapter. But anyway, happy reading!**

"Erik, no, really, I can't dance. I'm truly awful," Christine whined uselessly from her position on the couch, a book in her lap. Erik was standing above her, dressed impeccably as usual. His hand was extended toward her expectantly, and his gaze was fixed on her stubbornly.

"Christine, you are the prima donna of this opera house. It is expected. You can't _not_ dance at the masquerade," Erik said, stooping down to take both of her hands in his own. He gently lifted her up from her spot on the sofa, which Ayesha promptly took, and lead her to the center of the room. "Dancing isn't as hard as it may seem."

"Augh, Erik, really! I've _tried_ to learn how to dance before. My partner didn't escape unscathed," she said with embarrassment, letting her hands slip from his cool ones to clasp themselves behind her back bashfully.

"Ah, but Christine," Erik said, striding over to a small music box and winding it up deftly, "I was not your teacher." If the truth be told, Erik was pleasantly surprised to find the Christine didn't know how to dance. He would seize any opportunity to merely be close to her, let alone hold her in his arms.

"I suppose you're right, as usual," Christine said with a small smile. He walked over to her as the music box began to play a delicate waltz.

"Now, place one hand on my shoulder- yes, just like that, and I will put my own hand on your waist, and our free hands hold each other, extended from our bodies. Now, I know that you are already familiar with the waltz's 3/4 time signature, and all you must do is follow my steps. Avoid looking at your feet if possible, Christine," Erik said, removing his hand from her waist briefly to tilt her head so it was looking at him. Replacing his hand, Erik began to move around the room.

This wasn't exactly the most romantic of settings, with the majority of the den's furniture shoved unceremoniously against the walls, but Erik noticed with no small amount of pleasure that Christine didn't seem to notice nor care. Her tongue was protruding slightly in concentration as she tried her best not to look at her feet, though that was where her gaze was most of the time. Erik didn't really mind, though, as it gave him a chance to study her without hindrance.

"Christine," Erik said, and her head came up quickly to look at him for approval. He smiled at her gently. "I-" He stopped himself midsentence, as the music box was coming to a close. "One moment."

Erik reluctantly stepped away from her to wind up the music box one last time before turning to find Christine smiling stupidly at him.

"Is something terribly funny?" Erik asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's nothing," she assured him hurriedly, snapping out of some sort of reverie before coming up and gingerly placing her hand back on his shoulder. "Shall we try again?"

"I think that would be prudent," Erik agreed, placing his hand on her waist before leading her around the room once more.

_Several days later..._

"1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3... Excellent, Christine," Erik praised, leading her around the once-more disheveled den in his home beneath the opera house. The furniture had been shoved back against the walls again, and at Christine's request, no less. She had insisted that she wanted to practice more, as she found that she rather enjoyed dancing with him.

She had improved greatly, and despite the occasional misstep, she was a graceful dancer. She was a fast learner, too, and for that Erik was grateful. He could not imagine having to teach someone with great potential that wasn't subject to the fast spurts of understanding and inspiration that he was, himself. He thought, briefly, that perhaps that made him a rather inadequate teacher.

"Thank you, Erik," Christine said with a small smile. "Do you think I'm nearly ready for the ball?" she asked almost timidly, afraid she had not met his standards.

"I believe you to be quite ready, my dear Christine," Erik said with a small smile. "Quite ready."

**So, we have a tad bit of phluph here, so yay! Erm, just a fair warning to all my loyal readers that I'll be ending this series with Christine and Erik's first kiss (and I'm not talking cheek, forhead, or what have you), so keep your eyes peeled for that!**


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